


Little Black Dress

by Ursula



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Case Fic, Crossover, Fiction, M/M, X-file
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-31
Updated: 2005-01-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 09:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: Alex Krycek delivers a bloodhound to a deputy in the small town of Twin Peaks and encounters a Mulder look a like, cross dressing DEA agent, Denis/Denise Bryson.





	Little Black Dress

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Little Black Dress

### Little Black Dress

#### by Ursula

  


Title: Little Black Dress 

Author/Pseudonym: Ursula 

Fandom: X-Files 

Pairing: Mulder/Skinner/Krycek in the series, none in this story 

Rating: NC-17 for language 

Status: Finished 

Date Posted: 01-31-05 

Archive: FHSA 

E-mail address for feedback: Fan4Richie or 

Classification: 

Series/Sequel: Is this story part of a series: Sidebar story in the series, Gone to the Dogs 

Web Site: http://www.fhsarchive.com/autoarchive/ 

Disclaimers: No profit, fan fiction for fun 

Notes: A crossover between Twin Peaks and X-Files 

Warnings: No real sex. 

Time Frame: After the series 

You would think a man who survived everything I had would be able to keep out of trouble. All I had to do was deliver a bloodhound to a small town in Washington State. Simple enough. The small police force had sent Deputy Hill for training with the pup, Horatio from the H litter, sired by Roman, out of Agatha. He came down with food poisoning before the final day of training and left without the dog. I wasn't happy to be away from home during a holiday, even if it wasn't anything major. I had missed out on so much of life that I was damned willing to celebrate anything. Hell, I even made Mulder celebrate Hanukah just to have an extra occasion to decorate and have special dinners. The dog safe with his handler, I walked out on the street. There was a wrought iron bench across the street from the hotel where I would spend the night. I sat down and called home on my mobile phone. Walter answered. He sounded sweaty. If that sounds funny, let me explain. Walter is always busy. Since leaving that desk behind, he is constantly active, honing that beefy frame down to even more solid bone and muscle. You can tell when he has been out fixing a fence or repairing his favorite Ford truck. He has a breathy sound and his voice sounds clipped when he has been doing something physical. "Miss you," I announced.  
"Miss you too," Walter answered. "I was about to take a shower and head over to the school. Mulder's going as Bullwinkle Moose and I'm Duddly Do Right. I'm going to miss you as Snidely Whiplash." "Scully is going as Rocky again?" I asked, knowing the answer. Mulder and Scully were nearly always moose and squirrel, a reference to the past partnership that would never be severed entirely. "Yes, Doggett is going as Clifford, the Big Red Dog; Missy insisted," Walter said, a rumble of appreciation in his voice. "Here's Mulder. Talk at him." Walter's brusque end to our conversation was softened by, "Love you." "Love you right back," I said, closing my eyes. "Hi, babe," Mulder's voice said. "What you wearing?" "Nothing sexy," I admitted. "Jeans and sweater along with a lot of bloodhound fur." "You could have lied and said, a sequined spangle," Mulder commented. "I'll remember that next time," I replied. "You all right?" Mulder asked. "You sound lonely." "I can make it a few days without you," I snapped. Sometimes I like it when Mulder babies me and other times, I bite the hand that pets me. If he wasn't such a bitch at times himself, it would bother him. "Uh huh," Mulder grunted, but he didn't rise to the bait. "I have to go get dressed for the party. Remember to eat something. I like some cushion when I fuck your pretty ass." That was justified. I went through a dark period for a few months and hadn't been eating much. Winter has never been my favorite season anyway. It had started when one of my favorite kids was returned to the institute by his biological family. They thought they could cope with the disfigurement caused by his hybrid genes, but reality was another thing. When I tried to talk them out of it, they blasted me with every misdeed of which I had ever been accused. It was right after a nasty Mulder bashing book written by Tom Colton was published. He painted Mulder as eccentric, but I was an easy target to smear Mulder by association. Colton managed to drag out some facts about my life I wish he hadn't for Mulder's sake. Apparently, Joseph's family had read the book. I shouldn't have let it get to me, but I guess my skin wasn't as thick as it used to be. I had been depressed for a long time after that. "I can take care of myself, Mulder," I said, trying to hold onto my dignity. "Yeah, babe, but you know you like it when I mother you," Mulder said. I could HEAR his grin over the phone. I smiled back and put that into my voice, "Love you. Take care of Walter. I'll eat." Deputy Hill had told me that the best coffee and cherry pie in the world was to be had at the little place across the street from the hotel. I decided to have dinner first and then get a hotel room. He told me that the chicken stew was also a 'can't miss'. I like chicken stew and I'll take any kind of pie except rhubarb. Rhubarb was Spender's favorite. It figures. I found a corner where I could see the entire cafe without being seen. I had two bowls of the stew and had finished a big piece of pie when the waitress wandered over and said, "You the out of town cop that brought Deputy Hill the dog? There's some kind of argument going on in back. It's that funny acting drug cop so you better check it out." It seemed too much of a bother to correct her. Besides I was once an FBI agent and part of me had never let that go. I shoved money at the cashier and ran around in back. It was dark by then and I thought I saw two men trying to rape a tall woman with a big nose. She seemed to be holding her own although one of them tore her slinky black dress. Wading in, I tried to sneak up on the tall bastard who was trying to grab the woman from behind. My sneak wasn't in good order. He turned around and got me a good one in the belly. It was a hard punch, but I've been punched by Walter Skinner; it would take more than the creep's punch to take me down. I came up swinging and we exchanged blows until I saw a chance to kick the bastard in the balls. He crumpled to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. The tall woman was doing fine as well. We would have been okay except the third man came out of nowhere. I ducked just in time to avoid a tire iron, but it caught me a glancing blow. By that time, my damsel in distress had her man down. Both of our fists hit the guy and he toppled to the ground as if all of his bones had dissolved. Dizzy, a trail of blood trickling down my face, I swayed and then really saw the person I had rescued. That's when I almost passed out. The woman I saved looked like Mulder; Mulder in a tight black sheath dress with a torn strap, a smear of bright red lipstick, and mascara running from one eye. A surprisingly strong hand steadied me and a voice that sounded like my lover said, "Hey, there, don't faint on me now. You're my white knight." I opened my mouth to deny it, but, what the hell, I was feeling like some kind of hero. I said, "And who are you?" The man was a Mulder clone; I knew that without being told. I also could tell that he was purely human, more so perhaps than Mulder himself. He must have been seeded near Mulder's birth. The man was busy looking at his torn dress strap so didn't answer for a long moment. Before he could answer, Deputy Hill and Sheriff Truman showed up. My 'damsel' in distress whipped out an ID and said, "Denis Bryson, DEA agent, search these guys. They're holding." Giving me Mulder's lop-sided smile, Denis said, "But you can call me Denise." Truman snorted and said, "Denise, you are nothing but a hussy, going about dressed like that in this weather." As Deputy Hill cuffed one of the men, he growled, "Pantyhose is torn too, Denise." "Damn, and they were expensive too," Denise complained, craning her neck to look at the run. OooOooO  
After spending half an hour at the police station giving my version of the events in the alley, I was ready to hit the sack. Trying not to look at Denise, I headed for the hotel. He/she/whatever followed on my heels. I found out why when someone finally showed up at the desk. The girl shrugged and said, "The Cherry Pie festival is on now. She got the last room, but it's a double. You could share." "I was going to tell you that," Denise said. "Come on. I need to change my clothes." Towed by Denise's assurance, I walked into the elevator. Part of me thought it was a bad idea and part of me started to rise at the sight of Mulder's ass beneath that tight black dress. I reminded myself that I had slept with no one except my lovers from the moment Mulder and I got together. I wasn't going to start now, but to quote an ex-president, I had lust in my heart. Upstairs, Denise put her long leg up on a chair and ran her long fingers up and down her stockings. I looked for a second and then said, "Mind if I take a shower?" "No problem," Denise said.   
When I came out, Denise was standing around in black slip, trying to decide between a pink sweater set and a gold one. He turned to me and said, "What do you think?" "Gold's your color," I said.  
"I'm glad I ran into you," Denise announced. I tensed, expecting a proposition.  
"The reason I'm here besides those bozos is that the last time I was here, I heard of a legend. Things were pretty hectic at that point so I didn't get a chance to investigate it. I would have loved to have checked it out with your lover, Mulder, but you must know a lot about the paranormal too." I did, but that didn't mean I liked it. I shook my head and said, "The only thing I had in mind was getting some sleep and getting back in my Hummer to go home tomorrow." "Your loss," said Denise, slipping the gold sweater over his head. His lower lip was drooping when the sweater revealed his face. It didn't help that he looked just like Mulder. "So what's the legend?" I asked.  
"The lady in the black dress," Denise said. "She was found dead in Tiger Creek over thirty years ago on this night. The locals say she appears every year walking near where she drowned. I don't think she was drowned. I think she was murdered." "It was a long time ago," I said. "Even if she was murdered, her murderer could be dead by now. What's the point? Let it rest." "She can't rest," Denise said. He scowled, looking so much like my Mulder that I felt like kissing him better. "Look, it's a fucking cold night. Why sit around in the dark, freezing your ass off?" I asked. "I have a damn good reason," Denise said. "The point is that she was my mother, my biological mother. I was adopted by a nice family and, for some reason, I couldn't remember my early childhood until a couple years ago. I used a regression therapist after I read about Mulder. I realized I must be one of his clones. I thought I might remember something about aliens and all so I did the regression. Instead, I remembered my mother, the woman I think was my biological mother. I clearly recall the night she died. She told me she would be back for me. I know she didn't commit suicide." Ah shit, I had one of those feelings. There was no way I could let Denise go out in those woods alone. "She was beautiful," Denis said, dreamily stroking his black dress. "I remember her saying 'good night'. It was in this room. She put me to bed and went out. Mom had been dating someone. I hadn't met him because Mom didn't want for me to get attached if it didn't work out. All I know is that he had money. I heard Mom say that to her friend." "I wonder if I should wear this, instead?" Denise asked. "Out in the woods in October?" I replied. "I don't think so. I don't suppose you'd consider pants?" "With my legs?" Denise asked, sounding shocked. "I've been told they're my best feature." Giving up, I said, "All right, I can't let you go out there by yourself. Take a jacket, at least." "Right," Denise said, grabbing a fake fur number that was going to look awful after a few hours in the steady rain. Well, my leather jacket wasn't that much better. I only had brought it for old time's sake. Walter called it my security blanket. OooOooO  
Tiger Creek was a good ways out in the woods. We took the Hummer as Denise had a Jaguar. Of course, she did. She had a tough time getting in the Hummer. Her skirt was too tight and I had to boost her up. Her ass felt like Mulder's. Made my mouth go dry with wanting. We trudged through the woods and I didn't feel much like Alex Krycek, professional bad ass. Made me wish for Walter or Mulder to wisecrack me out of the spooky mood. I didn't expect to see anything, but I was afraid that if Denise was right that someone else might be there, the guilty party. We hid in the shadows of a thick tree that nearly overhung the water. Cold, we sat close. A low lying mist drifted upward, further chilling us. The moon was out, but it provided sparse light, filtered through the haze. It was a Mulder kind of night, but Denis was a good substitute. At first, I believed it was an illusion, a pattern of dark and light that the eye, mine in particular, tried to interpret as something familiar, a human figure. That's what I told myself, in Walter's voice no less. As the air around us became even colder, Denise shivered and pressed close to me. I put my arm around her. The lady in black cried out and struggled, gasping out, "No, William, no. Please, don't." Denise broke away from me, running to help her mother. I didn't expect the wraith to respond. If there were ghosts, I believe they were not souls, but the impression of traumatic events imprinted upon a place, no more real than a television signal. The ghost stumbled into the stream, fell backward. Her hair tumbled from the upswept do, drifting in the silver of the water. Her hands fought an invisible opponent, clawing at the air. "Help me, help me!" the voice screamed. "Mom, Mom!" Denise sobbed, trying to pry away his mother's murderer. Suddenly there was a third figure, an old man in a flannel shirt. He shoved at Denise, pushing her into the stream with her mother. "Elizabeth, leave me alone," the old man shouted. "It was a mistake. It wasn't my fault. She was going to tell Eileen. I couldn't let it happen. I would have lost Donna. Why didn't you stay dead, bitch!" Ghosts were Mulder's field, but a real live murderer, I could handle. I sprinted to the stream, grabbed the old man and pulled him off Denise. "You're under arrest," I said, the spirit of the FBI agent I pretended to be alive again. The man fought hard for someone of his age. He was strong and desperate. Finally, I got my belt off and used it to keep his hands confined, pushing him to his knees and holding him there. I watched as Denise's mother rose from her watery grave. Her hair rose back into a perfect coif. Her black dress fit her like a second skin. Pearls surrounded her long lovely throat. Her eyes were hazel like Denise's. Her nose was long, but well shaped. She had a full lower lip, a lip meant to be kissed. "Denis, Denis" the ghost said.   
Denis stood with tears flowing down his cheek. "Mother," he said. "Mother." "I would never have left you willingly," the ghost said. "He told me he was married, that we had to break it off. All that talk, all those promises . . . lies. I was so angry. I said I would ruin him, tell his wife, tell the town. He was so angry. I ran from the car. I tried to get back to the road, but he dragged me into the water. Into the water. So cold. I tried to hard to breathe, but the water filled my lungs. It hurt. It hurt. And I wondered who would take care of you. Who would raise you, my fatherless boy." "I'm fine, Mother," Denis said. "I got a great adoptive family. I'm a federal agent. I'm happy." "Don't try to be me," Denis's mother said. "Don't live out my life for me." "You're free now," I said to the spirit. "We'll make sure you have your justice. He will pay." Sobbing at my feet, the old man said, "I've paid and paid and paid." Ignoring her murderer, Denise's mother kissed his cheek and stroked his hair. "I love you. Waited so long to see you again." It might have been moonlight shining through the clouds as it grew windy enough to herd them through the sky. Might have been, but I think I could have sworn that a pathway of light opened for her. Perfect, as beautiful as the day she died, Elizabeth walked happily toward the starlight. She looked behind one more time, smiling back at Denise. Drying his tears, Denise turned to the old man and said, "Dr. William Hayward, you are under arrest for the murder of Elizabeth Jamison." I pulled the old man to his feet and we dragged him back to the Hummer. He looked dead himself, his eyes round with horror. "I'm glad it's over. Every Halloween, every October 31st, she dragged me back here to do it again. I wanted to stop, I wanted it to change, but there was no way. My hands pushing her down, her screams changing to the sound of her lungs filling with water. I was trying to protect my family," the doctor said. Disgusted, I said, "What about her family? What about Denis? You think of him?" "I found him a good home," the doctor said. "He wanted for nothing." "I wanted for her," Denis said, "Every day of my fucking life even when I couldn't remember her. You do that to? You take away my memory?" I had a feeling that the answer to that lay with the Project. Whether Doctor Hayward had ties to them or not, I knew that Denis Bryson was a child of the project. OooOooO  
Sheriff Truman wasn't too happy to be hauled out of bed and he was even more unhappy to find out that the kindly old town doctor was a murderer. However, he was a professional and he booked the old man after Hayward confessed. The motivation for the late confession didn't even make Truman blink. It seems as if ghosts and visions were not new phenomena to Twin Peaks. Back at the hotel, I watched Denis strip out of his sodden sweater and skirt set. I half expected that he would abandon his female clothing with his mother's death resolved and with the chance to say good-bye to her. However, he went into the shower and came back out naked. Denise drew silken panties over his long, beautiful legs before sliding a frothy black negligee on . Picking up his black evening dress, he carefully repaired the torn strap. "Basic black is always fashionable," Denise said. I guess Denise was just Denise, not the result of Elizabeth's death. Dangling the dress from her elegant fingers, Denise handed it to me. "Your Mulder is a lucky man," she said. "If he's anything like me, he might put this on for you. I think you might like that." I think he might be right. I hope to find out soon. I'm heading home. Little Black Dress  
Ever since I was a little boy  
Dressing up has always been my greatest joy But when it's time to be discreet  
There's one thing you just can't beat  
And that's a strapless backless classical little black dress Let's face it Mac that basic black is coming back Let's face it Mac that basic black is coming back Let's face it Mac that basic black is coming back That minimal (minimal)  
Criminal (criminal)  
Sinful little black dress   
  

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